


Pathways

by Rainyscribbs



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Unconnected Chapters, Various universes, disease mention (day 12), fire (day 31), implied abuse (day 18), my contribution to mcsm au month way back in 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:09:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rainyscribbs/pseuds/Rainyscribbs
Summary: Four short oneshots set against various AUs, written for MCSM AU Month in July 2018. (Days covered: 12, 18, 20 and 31)
Kudos: 16





	1. Virulence

**Author's Note:**

> Day 12 - Withersickness AU  
> (despite the fact that others were exposed to the Witherstorm's beams, Petra seems to be the only one who suffers from Withersickness, at least at first...)

Out of every single implication of… _this_ , the one that really rankles Lukas is the simple fact that he's already useless, and in all the worst ways. They all know it, even if Axel's the only one prepared to come right out and say it. Which, in a twisted kind of way, Lukas appreciates.

Jesse and Petra can promise that they don't blame him as many times as they like; it doesn't change anything. No matter how they try to slice it, it was _him_ who froze up instead of doing one thing to help Petra or Gabriel, or at least to protect Jesse. Lukas doesn't even want to think about where Petra might be if Jesse hadn't been doing everything they could, let alone where Gabriel probably is right now. Not that that stops his mind from wandering from horrific scenario to horrific scenario.

He could've prevented it. A hero, a warrior, Magnus and Ellegaard's beloved friend…lost, and Lukas could've prevented it. But he just stood there and _watched_.

Lukas shoves that thought away with as much force as his weary mind can muster, but the next one isn't much better. Because there's also the fact that Jesse's doing remarkably well under the circumstances – they all are, in fact. But Lukas? On the floor of that makeshift dirt hut they'd all slept in just two nights ago, he remembers pinching himself more times than he could count, pinching himself until he drew blood, as though he seriously hoped that it was just some hyper-realistic nightmare because he obviously can't even face the mess they've all found themselves in (how _did_ everything become such a mess in so short a time?).

So really, what's weighing Lukas down so much is the fact that he has no right to _be_ weighed down. Not when he couldn't do a thing right in the first place, even before... _this_ showed up.

Insults are traded, arms are thrown up with vehemence and Magnus and Ellegaard storm off in opposite directions and Lukas knows he doesn't deserve to be irritated, not really. If he'd done something, _anything_ , Gabriel would be here with them and maybe the warrior would've managed to stop that from happening. His eyes land on the majestic statues around them, both appreciating and resenting the way the components fit together, make sense, belong, and he knows he doesn't deserve to long for the brand of logic in building that's otherwise been conspicuously absent from Lukas's life since he was a little kid. The sense of control that's even now slipping through his fingers like sand.

Especially because even thinking about building sends a throb up the muscles of his right arm.

Lukas winces, then darts his eyes around. Luckily, Jesse's busy talking to Axel and none of the others are looking at him, which gives Lukas time to slowly grip his jacket sleeve (his _Ocelot_ jacket sleeve…the Ocelots… _Aiden, Maya, Gill...where are you guys..._ ), under which faint streaks of purplish-black are spreading across tender skin, eating away at him in what he's beginning to suspect is more ways than one.

And he doesn't deserve to be scared. But, God, he is.

He _is_.

But so is everyone else.

Petra, gazing off into space, looks pale and exhausted as it is, Axel and Olivia both have eye bags and torn clothes, and even though Reuben's determinedly sticking by Jesse's side, Jesse themselves trying so hard to keep everybody alive and well, the last thing any of them need is something or somebody else to worry about.

Lukas isn't really sure how long he can keep this hidden, hold in his frustration towards himself without letting it spill over and lash outwards, go on pretending. But he's sure he can hold on for a while longer. He has to. For their sakes. Maybe…maybe he'll be able to figure out how to get rid of it or at least slow it down and then nobody will have to know at all.

Or maybe not. Maybe he never will.

Either way, Jesse and their friends would all still have each other. They'd all still make it, Lukas knows they would. With or without him. It's not like anyone really _needs_ him for anything. What can he actually do that none of them can? Who'd truly miss him, truly be affected, if he...wasn't around?

What use is he to anyone?

On the other side of the blanket of slight unreality and disbelief that seems to have draped itself over Lukas, he registers Jesse choosing a path for them all to take, still managing to keep that gentle, sincere smile on their face even though it's clear to everyone else, including Lukas, that they could use a break as much as anybody. Jesse's twice the leader Lukas would be. Twice the leader he was to his friends (Axel's made it abundantly clear that, in his eyes at least, Lukas isn't allowed to call _this_ group his friends; in Axel's eyes, Lukas's help and friendship isn't wanted _here_ ; in Axel's eyes, Lukas is little more than a walking talking deadweight, definitely no more than a tagalong, and how can Lukas blame him?).

Then, at the entrance to the passage – the left one, Lukas realises dimly – Petra taps Jesse's shoulder, muttering something to them that he doesn't catch. He's too busy staring at her.

Lukas had asked her if she was doing okay earlier, of course; she hadn't really seemed herself. But Petra had only replied, "Why wouldn't I be?", which wasn't really answering the question, while giving Lukas a nonchalant smile with a look in her eyes that _dared_ him to imply that she was anything but fine. So he'd left it at that.

But close up, Petra _really_ doesn't look good. Her posture's more slumped than Lukas is used to seeing in spite of her efforts to hide it and her eyes are ringed with shadows. _Purple_ shadows. And at the exact same second Lukas notices this, his arm muscles give a particularly harsh twinge, accompanied by a sudden wave of faint nausea.

A block of obsidian seems to drop into Lukas's gut as his mind speeds to make connections he can't quite keep up with. But before he can say anything, Axel tugs none-too-gently at Lukas's right arm (forcing him to bite back a pained yelp) towards the other passageway with a tense-shouldered Olivia in tow, while Jesse, Petra and Reuben disappear into the other.

_Maybe this is just so that we can try both paths out more quickly_ , says Lukas's swimming head reasonably. His heart, however, knows that something is wrong.

Well. More wrong than things already are. He glances down at his sleeve again, rubbing at it as if to scrub the poison out of his forearm. Out of him.

The three of them walk in utter silence. Olivia, one of her hands clasping the wrist of the other behind her back, does open her mouth once or twice as though to start up with small talk, but one look at Axel's clenched jaw and lowered eyebrows seems to convince her to think better of it. Neither of them notice the way Lukas is avoiding their gazes.

_You can just tell them. You can get it over with. You can stop pretending._

_You can even tell them that you're worried about Petra too. That way you can do something good for one of them for once._

But he doesn't. He can't help anybody. Not even himself.

_Useless._

God, he knows.


	2. Reminders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 - Hadrian's Deal AU  
> (In yet another moment of misguided heroism, Jesse decides not to tell the others about their deal with Hadrian and throws the games so that the others can go free. Surprisingly, Hadrian keeps his end of the bargain, leaving Jesse in the mines.)

Almost every damn moment in that Hallway, Jesse had been so terrified that one or the other of their group was going to die. That they were going to lose someone. And every damn moment, none of them had and they hadn't.

But somehow that choking sense of fear and worry and protectiveness had never quite extended to include themself. Had anybody asked them "what if something bad happens to _you_ , Jesse?", they would've paused and shrugged and smiled. They still would, especially now that thinking about death and injury is just as pointless as thinking about any other form of escape. If their experiences have taught them anything, it's that with or without them, life goes on. Or what passes for it.

And that's why Jesse's here right now, tracing the cracks in the ceiling with itchy eyes that they can't even find it within themself to close, pushing aside the relentless ache deep in their every muscle and the way the narrow cot presses almost harshly into their back - which isn't helped by the fact that there's considerably less flesh and more bony parts sticking out (as well as a number of suspiciously shaped wounds) on said back than there once was. One thing Jesse learned very quickly is that in the mines, it's everyone for themselves, and the pseudo-celebrity status they still seem to have amongst the ex-competitors makes it hard for them to keep their head down and make themself invisible, try as they might. Still, Jesse's been pretty adept at hiding pain since before all of this happened.

Their mind's been running over the whole thing every single night for the past...six months? Or maybe it's been a few years by now; Jesse lost track a while ago. Running over what they'd done, what they'd chosen to do (as if it had ever been a real choice; the second Jesse was told that Axel and Olivia were in harm's way, this would've happened anyway), and who they were doing it all for. In fact, most of their waking moments are spent straining to summon up faces and voices and habits in their memory, a few more details trickling out of their grasp each time. And that terrifies them. They can't forget...must _never_ forget.

And they won't, they won't, they're sure they won't; all the little things that have never been 'little' to them are there, they know they are. Even if some of them hover just out of reach, sometimes coming close enough to taunt them and then floating away again, no matter how they strive to latch on.

Maybe if they just tried harder-

Heh. Story of Jesse's life, really. _If_ they'd tried harder. _If_ they'd been better. _If_ they could just be good enough, even if it's just once.

Jesse lets out a long, low sigh, closing their eyes (the prickle in them only partly due to exhaustion) and digging their nails deep into their palms. The ripped-open blisters blemishing their hands send sharp stings of protest across their skin, but they ignore the present in favour of the past. 

They can still see Hadrian's mocking look of triumph; the image is emblazoned across the back of their eyelids. They can still feel the tremble of their fingers, the ringing in their ears, the hatred beyond anything they've ever known, spiking and pulsing. 

Then came those first few days and weeks and months, when it was all still a gaping wound and almost everything, even the blunt pickaxe they'd had shoved into their hand at the crack of dawn every morning and the poorly fitting mining uniform they'd been allocated and the tiny cell-like rooms that had eight beds cramped into each one, had reminded Jesse of _them_ in some way. 

And they'll always remember that last group hug they'd all shared before a couple of Gladiators had had to bodily drag them away. Somehow, even though Jesse had known that it would probably be their last, the fact hadn't really, truly hit them at the time. Not the way it now does on a regular basis, a gut punch of the kind that also comes with remembering how Axel's pranks had always fallen flat thanks to his inability to keep a straight face and yet Olivia had been surprisingly good at it, remembering the endearingly familiar background noise of Petra and Ivor's verbal sparring that was never without genuine affection behind it, remembering Lukas consistently managing to turn wheat and dried fruit into cookies fit for royalty... 

Jesse's family. At least this way, they know that they've done the only thing they could to keep them all safe. 

Hopefully. 

A chill that has little to do with the snow coating the ground outside cuts through Jesse at that thought. They might have their thoughts and their memories and the promises that they'd all made and that's enough; it _has_ to be enough, because it's all they have left. Not for the first time, though, what they want more than anything right now is some way to _know_ , to make absolutely sure that their loved ones are okay. 

But they can't. 

Perhaps that's for the best, really. In their heart of hearts, they know they'd never be satisfied with only that. No need to make this any harder. 

Jesse shifts onto their side underneath the coarse, paper-thin blanket as sleep finally tugs their battered body and cluttered mind under. And the longing follows them into the most bittersweet of dreams. 

(The cold pang it's going to cost them when they wake up will be worth it. Because they'll have been reminded of _why_ all of this is worth it.) 


	3. Breathing Space

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> July 20 - Reuben Lives AU  
> (the title says it all: Reuben is alive after Episode 4.)

Jesse's been snug under Axel's arm for the better part of five hours now, sore, shocked, exhausted in every sense of the word, but miraculously alive.

But they're yet to drift off to sleep like all of their friends seem to have managed to do. They're yet to stop the slight shaking that's been left in their limbs. And they're yet to so much as _consider_ loosening the iron grip they have on the little pig nestled in their trembling arms.

They just hope that nobody will be stupid enough to suggest it, or to try and prise their hold loose.

As long as Reuben is there, then it means he's _safe_. The closer and tighter Jesse holds him, the more secure he is and that way he won't slip through their hands, he won't plummet down, down, down out of reach, out of sight, jagged purple and grey and black won't reverberate with that panic-stricken squeal that pierces Jesse like an ice-cold shard of raw pain, not _again_ -

A strange, shuddery sort of gasp escapes from Jesse's mouth, but they're quick to stifle it against the top of their little pig's head. Their friends don't need Jesse disturbing them, not after sticking by Jesse's side through so much.

How they all ended up squished so closely together in this cuddle pile of sorts in the first place is a bit of a blur in Jesse's mixed-up mind, much like most of what's taken place tonight. Even now, Jesse can only really recall bits and pieces of it. They gently rest their chin atop Reuben's head and let their aching eyes fall shut, trying to disentangle the convolution of half-formed thoughts enough to make some sense of it all.

Petra's happy exclamation that she finally remembered (Jesse tries to push aside the whisper at the back of their mind that she must also remember how badly Jesse let her down back in Gabriel's bunker)...Ivor returning with no Soren in sight, casting his eyes over each haggard face in the worn-out group as though he was checking something and then muttering something about going to find Gabriel and Magnus...the two remaining Order members rushing to help the people spilling out from under wreckage, people, _living_ people with a mottled greyness to their skins and a haunted sort of emptiness to their eyes, but alive, _alive_ , instead of being frozen to craggy walls and mouldering into blackness in their last moments of helpless fear with sunken, staring purple eyes that hold a similar yet very different sort of emptiness like all of those-

_No, don't think about it. Don't think about how that could've been Petra or Gabriel. Don't think about how it_ would've been you _if Reuben hadn't been there._

Jesse squeezes their eyes shut even more tightly, forcing themselves to stir up more memories.

Like Lukas making sure that they were all okay – as much so as they could expect to be, at least – before parting company with them to go in search of the Ocelots.

Olivia pausing in hugging an unsteady Jesse long enough to point out that they all desperately needed to rest.

Axel gently tugging Jesse and Reuben against his right side, Petra leaning into his left, Olivia shuffling close and winding her arm around Jesse's, resting her warm hand on top of their own, which was tight around the shivering, dripping little pig whose pink face was half-hidden in his human's chest.

Reuben gives a sudden twitch in his sleep, violently enough to jolt Jesse out of their patchwork recollections. They instinctively run the fingers of the hand that Olivia's not holding over his little head, hoping that, wherever Reuben is in his dreams, the gesture will be enough to let him know that Jesse has him safe, to remind him that Jesse hasn't planned on letting him out of their arms even once since the discovery that he'd landed in the water rather than colliding with solid ground.

Before that realisation, though...Jesse can still hear the drawn-out scream of anguish and rage and hatred that rips through their lungs and out of their throat and rings high and clear in their ears and yet it somehow doesn't quite register in Jesse's head that it's _their_ scream...and then the squeal that fades into silence...

Jesse's eyes snap wide open, a chill running over their skin and deep through their bones. Reuben's here, he's _here_ , they're _all_ here, they're all _fine_.

(Fine. Such a relative word.)

And Jesse's going to prove it to themselves. Prove that everything's okay again. _Make_ everything be okay again if they have to. So they let their head drop against Axel's chest (the boy apparently senses the movement, because he shifts the position of his arm to accommodate it) and place a protective hand onto Reuben's chest so as to track the steady rise and fall of it. Just to be completely sure.

Somehow or other, sooner or later, Jesse's going to fix whatever needs to be.

But for now, they sit and they _breathe_.


	4. Pity Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 31 - Free Day  
> (inspired by the songs "Pity Party" by Melanie Martinez and "Control" by Halsey - also, I borrowed Toni42's idea that Soren and Cassie once had a father-daughter relationship, back when both of them were still Old Builders ;-;)

Every day and week and month that Cassie Rose has spent feverishly planning out the way tonight will go. Every bit of logic and creativity that she's poured into it. So, so many sleepless nights. Useless.

No. No, worse than useless. Wasted. All because of something she simply hadn't counted on. Something that she'd been so desperate not to let happen that she'd taken steps to make sure it didn't. And yet never once has it crossed her mind to make another plan, a back-up of sorts, in the event that it did.

Until now.

And it should've, it should've, _she_ should've.

They – the 'YouTubers' – might be gullible and sickeningly sentimental and good for nothing except as a means to an end. But the fact remains that they're also experienced adventures. All of them. They know, _understand_ , this hellhole of world twice as well as Cassie or Winslow ever will.

Had she really thought that releasing some zombies, of all things, would send them running straight into her mansion – and, in turn, straight to their deaths?

They'd been _so close_ , her and Winslow. So close. It had practically been dangling in front of their noses. But never, ever close enough. Her portal home is sitting underground, just waiting to be lit and passed through, but without that precious key to light it _with_? It may as well be worlds away. Just like home.

Maybe...maybe it's some kind of cruel joke.

Is it?

Of course that's what it is. Cassie knows damn well, she probably knows better than anybody, what a sadistic sense of humour the world has. Why _should_ anything good ever happen to _her_? Why _should_ she be allowed to be happy? Ever?

For several long minutes, the bitterness and the hatred that Cassie's been running on for so long causes formless new plots and schemes to surge into the twists and turns of her mind, hastily constructed lies and fronts and manipulations snaking themselves around every thought like poison ivy around some sort of trellis, heart hammering, fingers twitching, blood sending thrills through her veins...and then it's all gone. Gone like the shallow euphoria one might feel after a few too many at the wine bar, only for the rippling veil that's been draped over cold reality to be lifted once again. Leaving a trembling girl in its wake, wandering from mockingly empty room to mockingly empty room (past the remains of the portraits which, thanks to her axe, now lie on the ground in so many shreds that it's impossible to tell which scraps belong to which painting, as though by doing that she can subject the people in them to some tiny part of what was happening inside her because of _them_ ) on shaking legs, still waiting, waiting. Although for what, she's not sure anymore. 

__Stupid. Pathetic._ _

__Remember that next time you think you have any glimmer of hope. Next time you think you'll ever be anything but a worthless brat and her bag of fleas._ _

No. She's not remembering that voice. She's not. 

__You stupid, stupid,_ stupid _little girl.__

"Stop." 

The word falls out before she can pull it back. It doesn't matter anyway. Her croak _(whimper)_ is quickly swallowed by the recycled whispers whose echoes follow her from room to room. By the faces that lurk in every corner, right down to the fractured walls of her mind's maze. Her mental cell. The kind that keeps the weak and the desperate ensnared in its web. 

If only she could remember where she left the key. 

Correction: Cassie knows damn well where she left the key. In other people's clutches. 

A dead smile pulls at the corners of her lips. Really, that's the best of it. Doesn't she know better than to ever depend on anyone else for anything by now? Hasn't she learnt anything at all? What was it Soren had told her once, back when things had been simpler (well...before everything hurt in this way, at least)? 

__"You have a great deal of potential, Cassie. Don't let yourself throw it away. When you find your happiness, seize it; never leave the key to it in anyone else's pocket."_ _

Soren. For a fleeting moment, she wishes he was here, just so she could go back to being a kid again, even if only for a few minutes. Hear his promises that it'll all be okay, empty as they always were. Let someone else look out for her for the first time in...in longer than she cares to remember. She wishes it so badly that she almost loses all sight of where she really is, who she really is, for a second - which is almost _merciful_ , in its own sick sort of way. 

Well. That ship has well and truly sailed, hasn't it? She's never going to see him again. So why bother lamenting his absence? 

(Again.) 

And the fact is, she's had no idea who she really is for months now. Years, in fact. So why should she go through all of this, turning it over and over and _over_ in her mind? 

(Again.) 

Lost. She's lost. And nobody's there to help her to find her way. To catch her when she stumbles. To never let her fall this far in the first place. 

(A-frickin'- _gain_.) 

Maybe Cassie's knees buckle; maybe she throws herself down. Either way, she finds herself huddling into a ball under the dining table, subconsciously counting the innocuous little buttons on the underneath. This is what she did as a child. Find a place to hide. Wait, wait, wait for the world to make sense again. Beside her, Winslow lets out a long, low, vehement hiss, declining his little head upon her feet. He's done the same thing so many times over the years: curling up against her side or around her feet as she slept. Guarding her from the shadows and monsters lying in wait for her there. 

Her little kitty. Always there with her when the dark comes slinking in. Even here and now. 

Even _there_ and _then_ , back in the 'Old Builders' world. So long ago. 

Did either of them ever leave that place? Oh, in a physical sense, of course they did (otherwise they wouldn't be trapped, confined, _helpless_ yet again), but did they ever really, truly leave it behind them? 

A mixture of snort, sob and burst of maniacal laughter explodes from Cassie's mouth as she throws her pounding head back against the table leg. She doesn't care about the throb it sends across her skull. She doesn't care about the lit candle that topples from the tabletop. She doesn't care about the wooden floor beneath her burning with the savagery of straw as the greedy little flame refuses to stay confined to one measly candle wick. 

It's still her party, after all. She supposes she can cry if she wants to. 

A toxic shroud of smoke rises around the two; flames spread their vivid skirts and dance around the room for them both. 

It's quite beautiful, really. 

And Cassie sits amongst the fragments of her most desperate hopes, hands coated with blisters, with blood, with the dust of her sanity, and smiles. 

The pitiful peal of a broken laugh is lost beneath the whispers of the blaze spilling out around her and of the frayed thread holding a heart together finally snapping. 


End file.
